


(show me) how you do that trick

by lost_in_saudade



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Losers Club (IT), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Bisexual Beverly Marsh, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Blow Jobs, Consent is sexy folks, Deepthroating, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, M/M, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Sharing Clothes, TikToker!Bev, Truth or Dare, like they are head over heels for each other, they're like 17/18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:54:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21814015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_in_saudade/pseuds/lost_in_saudade
Summary: "Every video Eddie was in garnered a surplus of attention, and he’d definitely found one or two of them on those, ‘tiktoks that radiate vine energy’ compilations. People raided the comments asking for his appearance in Bev’s livestreams. They’d call him cute and compliment his outfits and tell him how oh so funny he was and Richie was slowly spiraling into insanity.So really, despite it being totally his own fault he was in this situation, he literally could not be blamed for his reactions."in which richie is head over heels, eddie eats icecream, and bev accidentally becomes tiktok famous
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 24
Kudos: 466





	(show me) how you do that trick

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone! this fic is inspired by a [prompt](https://itchytoe-eater.tumblr.com/post/189623615825/can-someone-make-a-reddie-fic-based-off-of-that) by [itchytoe-eater](https://itchytoe-eater.tumblr.com/) on tumblr: "can someone make a reddie fic based off of that one tiktok where this dude deepthroated a whole ass ice cream." also, i wasn't the first person to write for this prompt! go check out [Eddie Loves Ice Cream](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21777520) by [motherfuckingtozier](https://motherfuckingtozier.tumblr.com/) on tumblr or [02070207](https://archiveofourown.org/users/0207027) on ao3! here's a [link](https://www.tiktok.com/@chaddsster/video/6734525323792207109?u_code=d5bee5fdka5jef&preview_pb=0&language=en%C3%97tamp=1576221325&utm_source=sms&utm_campaign=client_share&utm_medium=android&share_app_name=musically&share_iid=6767528455954843397&source=h5_m) to the original video as well. title from "just like heaven" by the cure.
> 
> comments and kudos are greatly appreciated or come talk to me on tumblr @ lostinsaudade

It all started with a dare.

Richie’s parents had been away for the weekend, something about a dentistry conference in Bangor, which automatically meant a sleepover with the Losers. They had just gotten through a showing of _Bill and Ted_ on Richie’s living room TV – his own request because “it’s my house, my pick, fucknuts” – when Bev piped up.

“C’mon, guys, let’s do something fun.”

“Well, Ms. Marsh, what do you suggest we do? I can think of plenty of stuff to pass the time –,” he began, winking, until he was interrupted by a chorus of ‘beep beep’s.

“What do you have in mind, Beverly?” Ben asked, smiling softly at the girl in question. Much to the relief of literally everyone, the pair had finally cut the bullshit and started dating a few months prior. Which, honestly, good for them – Richie was pretty sure they were made for each other but that could just be his secret inner romantic talking.

“Truth or Dare?” A general murmur of approval arose from the other Losers.

“You guys always give terrible dares though,” Richie complained.

“What if we used one of those Truth or Dare apps? That way it’s less predictable,” Mike, the Fix-It Felix that he is, suggested. He pulled out his phone and began tapping away, before flipping it over to show them the screen. It was pulled up to the App Store and showed a download in process. “See? Problem solved.” 

“Fine,” the curly-haired teen acquiesced, drawing out the word obnoxiously before realizing there was still one vote missing from the consensus. “How about it, Spaghetti Man? Up for a little stereotypical teenage fun?” Eddie hesitated, wriggling uncomfortably in his spot on the couch.

“I dunno guys…”

“C’mon, Eds, live a little!” He said, dramatically flopping into Eddie’s lap and giving his best pout for good measure. The smaller boy groaned and attempted to shove him off.

“God, fine, just get off of me you idiot! And don’t call me Eds!” Richie grinned but slid off of him, repositioning himself in front of Eddie’s legs.

“Ah say, ah say, ah do buhlieve Miss Marsh should get the first turn, don’cha thank?”

“That was terrible, Rich,” Eddie complained before leaning over to card his fingers through Richie’s hair. And with that, it was like his brain had short-circuited – sirens and error 404 alerts interrupting his regularly scheduled brain activity (because despite what ~~Stan~~ anyone might say, he did have brain activity). His inner dialogue had been reduced to _ohmygodwhatisEddiedoing ohmygodhe’stouchingme ohsweetjesusitfeelssonice ohmygodohmygodohmygod_ until –.

“R-Richie? Richie!” It was Bill, waving in Richie’s face with one hand and holding Mike’s phone in the other. Richie blushed and threw himself back into character.

“Sorry, Billiam, just got lost thinking about Mrs. K’s love handles. All ten of them.” _Saved it._

“Beep beep, asshole!” Eddie screeched.

“B-Ben, Mike, and I have already g-g-gone. It’s y-your turn. Truth or d-d-dare?”

“Dare. Obviously.” Richie watched as Bill tapped the dare button on the app and read its suggestion with a bemused expression.

“I d-dare you to switch clothes with the p-p-person next to you.” 

The next second seemed to pass in slow motion as Beverly, who was situated on the floor to Richie’s left raised her hand up to her face, shouting, “nose goes!” Stan, always so observant and sitting to the right of Eddie on the couch, saw where her hand was headed and moved to do the same. This was all fine and well, except it left Eddie as the closest victim. 

_This is fine._ Richie’s heart seized in his chest, but he played it off by twisting around and beaming toothily at the boy behind him.

“Whaddaya say, Eddie Spaghetti? You think you can handle this caliber of fashion?” He said, gesturing to the haphazard outfit he’d thrown on that morning.

“You wouldn’t know fashion if it bit you in the ass,” Eddie muttered, face scrunched up in an unreadable emotion but he got up nonetheless.

The two headed away from their friends who were – very rudely, might Richie add – snickering and giving them various gestures of approval. As they approached the hallway, Eddie paused and turned to face him.

“How do you want to do this?”

“…Huh?”

“How do you want to do this?” He repeated. “Should one of us change in your room and just hand the clothes through the door?” Richie bit his lower lip, doing everything in his power to stave off the blush sprouting on his cheeks.

“Um, it doesn’t really matter to me, man. Whatever you want.”

“Probably less effort if we just do it the same time,” Eddie said thoughtfully before heading off to Richie’s room. _It’s like he’s trying to kill me,_ he thought, heart racing, but moved to follow.

Richie’s bedroom was his safe haven. His parents had basically given up having any say on how he decorated it. This was a freedom he fully utilized, putting up posters of all his favorite artists – The Cure, ACDC, David Bowie – and a fuckton of memes he’d painstakingly printed himself. It was, by no means tidy: dirty laundry was carelessly scattered about and there was definitely a pizza box from the other day laying next to his bed, but it wasn’t too bad. Thankfully.

“God, Trashmouth, don’t you ever pick up your shit? Your room looks like it survived a hurricane.”

“Not a hurricane, my dear Edward Spaghedward. Just your mom and I’s passionate lovemaking.”

“Shut up and strip, asshole.” Really it was a wonder that Richie managed to survive being around Eddie when he was just existing in general, let alone _this._ So he aggressively willed his dick to ignore the comment and did as he was told. He ripped his clothes off at rates that could’ve rivaled the speed of fucking light and turned around to place them on the bed for Eddie when – _oh no._

Eddie had only had time to pull his shirt off and was working on those goddamn shorts of his with his back turned to Richie. He took in the soft dip of Eddie’s spine and the slope of his shoulders and the dusting of freckles on his tanned skin and, before his gaze could drift any longer, flipped back around, covering his face with his hands. Any longer and he might have actually died.

Because, sure, it wasn’t the first time he’d seen Eddie shirtless. Not by a long shot. But that was always at the quarry or the beach that one time. Never like this. Never when they were alone. In his room. It felt so intimate that it kind of took his breath away.

“Rich? I’m done.” Wordlessly, he set the clothes on the bed and reached out his hand for Eddie’s, diverting his eyes the entire time. He slipped on the cozy, white sweater and red shorts he’d been handed, struggling to get the too-small items past his oversized limbs.

“I look dumb,” said Eddie from behind him. Richie gave in and looked back. His own Hawaiian shirt was falling off the other’s left shoulder. The shirt beneath it was littered with holes and its neckline sat just low enough to show off his collar bone. The jeans were slipping at the waist and bunching at the ankles and _god, he was beautiful._

“Cute, cute cute!” He shouted, pinching Eddie’s cheeks.

“Fuck off,” Eddie said, swatting at him, despite the small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Besides, I think I have you beat – you can definitely see my ass in these shorts.” Eddie giggled.

“C’mon, dumbass, they’re waiting on us.”

They were greeted with wolf-whistles and cheers, leading Richie to perform a series of increasingly ridiculous poses. He only stopped when, mid-twerk, Eddie pulled him back down onto the floor with a grunt of, “fashion show’s over, Tozier,” and red cheeks _(which,_ inch resting, _but whatever)._

“I-It’s your t-turn to ask, Richie.” It was at this moment that a brilliant plan wandered into his mind.

Bev had known about his long-standing hard-on for their favorite mysophobe since about a year prior. (It was this information that had probably led her to pull that fun little gimmick earlier, that meddling little meddler.) He'd let it slip completely by accident but ever since then, they'd had regular hang-outs to talk about mostly boys (Ben and Eddie) and sometimes girls (Jameela Jamil and Lupita Nyong'o). The previous week, he and Bev had been in the middle of one of those said hang-outs, when he stumbled on a ridiculous video (“We have to be careful. Someone here is possessed by an owl.” “Who?” “That’s the thing, we don’t –.”) and, being the wonderful friend he was, passed his phone over so she could see it. She chuckled, took a drag of her cigarette, and made a little offhanded comment.

“TikTok really is the worst, though. I mean, that was funny but as a whole it’s terrible. I would rather die than be seen on that app.”

He just wanted to give her a friendly clapback, so to speak. Which was why, that night, unbeknownst of the fate it would lead him to, Richie Tozier Made A Mistake.

“I don't need the phone for this, fellas. Beverly, darling, truth or dare?”

Little did he know, daring his friend to make a TikTok and post a video would create something a little more permanent than he was expecting. Because, five months later, she had a following of hundreds of people who thought she was ‘entertaining’ and ‘creative.’ (Which, okay, fine, she deserves it, but like hell was he ever gonna say that out loud. She’d never let him live it down.)

All the Losers had been in her videos at some point or another. Everyone loved Ben almost as much as they did Bev and the two had been proudly branded by the latter’s fans as ‘couple goals.’ Stan’s quick wit, Bill’s increasingly impressive storytelling, Mike’s charm, and Richie’s general chaos also made frequent appearances. For some reason, however, it was Eddie the internet wanted to see. (Which, again, he deserves it but if Richie had to see someone faun over him in the comments _one more time,_ he was gonna lose it.)

Every video Eddie was in garnered a surplus of attention, and he’d definitely found one or two of them on those, ‘tiktoks that radiate vine energy’ compilations. People raided the comments asking for his appearance in Bev’s livestreams. They’d call him cute and compliment his outfits and tell him how oh so funny he was and Richie was slowly spiraling into insanity.

So really, despite it being totally his own fault he was in this situation, he literally could not be blamed for his reactions.

The seven of them had decided to meet up at a little ice cream shop off Canal – the one across the street from the Aladdin – for post-dinner frozen treats. For himself, Richie had gotten a towering cup of orange sherbet topped with all gummy bears and pop rocks he could fit. For Eddie, because they always ordered for each other, he got an obnoxiously tall cone Eddie was sure to yell at him for. As he made his way back to the table, he noticed that the others had already purchased their ice cream and were brainstorming Bev’s new video.

“What if it’s just Stan birdwatching and he catches evidence of birds being fake? You know, the whole ‘all the birds died and were replaced with drones’ thing?”

“And h-he could get dragged away b-b-by Mike and Ben dr-dressed as the pol-l-lice!”

“Or what if we did something with Vine references? Maybe make a joke about how everyone compares the two?”

“I’ve got it. All of us are sitting around a campfire telling scary stories but the ‘scary’ part is Richie.”

“Like, he jumps out or –?”

“No, just Richie.”

“You wound me Staniel,” Richie said, sitting down at the empty seat next to Eddie and placing the cone before him with a shit-eating grin.

“Are you fucking kidding me? This is gonna make such a mess! How am I supposed to eat this?” He complains, throwing his hands in wild, angry gesticulation. And then –. “Wait a minute. Bev, turn on your camera.”

“What do you –.”

“Just do it.” She shrugged and complied, situating it so that it faced him at a good angle. The rest of the table fell into a confused silence as Beverly gave a quick countdown and pressed play.

Eddie took a quick look around and then shoved the entire cone down his throat.

Richie felt his entire body go stiff, brain firing like a loose cannon at his train of thought – a litany of _holy fuck'_ s and _god, imagine'_ s. Mind void of anything but Eddie, dick harder than it’d ever been before, a sound slithered its way out of the recesses of his soul.

He fucking whimpered.

No one spoke. The air felt thick as molasses while Richie looked, wide-eyed, at his friends and their varying levels of concern, shock, or, in Stan’s case, temple-rubbing annoyance. Eddie best fell into the first category with knitted brows and soft eyes.

“Rich,” he began. He never got to hear the rest of the sentence because Richie was already halfway out the diner’s door and hightailing back to his house.

A flood of thoughts and emotions ran through him. It wasn’t the first time one of them had popped a chubby at an inopportune moment. The Losers had known each other through puberty and weren’t exactly known for their modesty. But at least none of them had fucking whimpered at the sight of Bev at the quarry – even at the height of Ben (and Bill, for a moment)’s hardcore pining. None of them had whimpered during a cuddle session or a sexy movie scene or general nudity because they were so turned on they couldn’t think straight. None of them had whimpered at Eddie’s apparent lack of a gag reflex because none of them were so fucking in love with him it hurt to think about.

But he did. And he was. God, he was. As he made it through the door of his house and into his bedroom, he thought of all those sleepless nights. The one where he’d lay in his bed, staring at his ceiling and wondering what Eddie’s hand might feel like in his. Wondering how he might kiss or what got him going or what sounds he made when he came. But most of all, he wondered if he would ever feel the same, knowing full well the answer was no. Because sure, he'd come out as gay to them forever ago, but there was no way in hell he would like _Richie._ Not when there’s brave Bill, or strong Mike, or sweet Ben, or literally anyone with a single redeeming quality out there in the world.

It was because of this that he was so surprised to see Eddie burst in, wheezing all the way, a few steps behind him.

“You… fucking… asshole… making me… run… all this way,” he panted and took a puff of his inhaler (because no matter how fake all the medication was, Sonia had wormed her way into Eddie’s psyche and old habits die hard) while Richie flipped around for a pillow to cover his crotch with.

“I didn’t make you do anything, sweetcheeks,” Richie responded a little hysterically. “That was all you.”

“Whatever. Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” And of all the things he expected out of Eddie’s mouth, that was certainly not the first.

“Huh?” _Yeah, Eds,_ Richie thought. _I’ve got a real bad disease. It makes me sweaty and feverish and so fucking horny and it’s all because of you, baby. All because I’m the idiot who fell in love with a straight hypochondriac. So whaddya say, Dr. K; d’ya hafta amputate?_

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” He repeated. “That’s why you made that sound at the diner, right? Do you have a fever? Stomach ache? Cramps? C’mon, what are your symptoms? I know I’m still… not great… with germs, but you don’t have to hide it from me and pretend everything’s fine. I can help.” Richie couldn’t help but feel as though that was even worse. Their relationship was such an odd one to those outside of it because they tore each other apart. They spoke in ‘your mom’ jokes and insults and childish pestering because that was just how they were. But sometimes… sometimes they were nice. Sometimes they were honest and caring and it was so overwhelmingly wonderful that it made Richie’s head spin. He shifted the pillow slightly and hugged it close to his chest so that it still blocked his incredibly persistent boner while also giving his hands something to do.

“I’m fine, Eds. Honest.” Eddie scowled, but not in the way he normally did. It wasn’t the one he made when Richie was being annoying and he wanted to look mad about it. This was a different scowl, one that looked a little hurt and confused and sent a pang through Richie’s chest.

“You’re lying,” he stated simply, his nostrils flaring a little as he steeled himself. “I’m not made of glass. I’m not gonna have a breakdown just cause you’ve got a cold or some shit so quit being so fucking noble and start being honest with me!” And with that, he grabbed the pillow from the other boy’s lap and angrily tossed it behind him, leaving Richie utterly defenseless.

And with that, it finally clicked. Richie could almost see the lightbulb turn on in Eddie’s head.

_“Oh.”_

“Uh…” _C’mon Tozier, think!_ “What can I say? Thinking about your m–.”

“If you’re about to use my mother to explain away your boner, don’t.”

“Sorry,” Richie muttered. And then, like a dam that had sustained too many hits, words began to spill out of his mouth. “It’s just – you were sitting there looking fucking perfect, as usual, and being, like, smart and shit, coming up with that video on the spot and then – as if that weren’t bad enough – you took that cone like a… like a fucking champ and then you come here like my knight in shining spandex being nice to me and I just. Like. Holy fuck you’re beautiful and sexy all the goddamn time but how am I supposed to deal with that? I mean, fuck, that makes it sound like it’s your fault. It’s not your fault; it’s mine. I’m the one being weird and pervy and shit. You’re probably mad at me. You have every right to be mad at me. Fucking Christ, I’m gonna have to move away to, like, Canada or some shit so I’m not in your hair anymore like a goddamn creep or, ya know what? Fuck it. Fuck society, I’m gonna go off and be a farmer gay – well, a farmer bi but, ya know, the meme. I’ve never gardened before, but I guess I better fucking learn –.” 

“Do you ever shut up?” Eddie interrupted. He took another puff from his aspirator, face beat red, and placed the thing in his fanny pack. With his hands free of the placebo, he began nervously tugging on the sleeves of his sweatshirt.

“Um. Not really.” Eddie looked to the floor, took a deep breath, and then brought his eyes back up at Richie.

“I don’t think you should, um, go to Canada, or whatever.”

“…Why?”

“Because I can’t suck your dick if you’re in Canada, dipshit.” Richie felt himself deflate, Eddie’s words leaving him a little dazed and a lot turned on.

“You… wanna. You wanna –?”

“Suck your dick? Yes, you idiot, get with the program,” Eddie said, looking exasperated.

“Oh. You sure? This isn’t, like, a pity thing?”

“No, Richie,” he explained, exasperation replaced with that rare softness he sometimes gets. The kind that makes his eyes all tender and his lips curve upwards. “This is not a pity thing. Do you see me running after anyone else? I could have passed out. Imagine if you’d actually been sick? You could have been contagious.”

“The only sick I am is lovesick for you.” And wow, that sounded way less pathetic in his head. For some reason, though, Eddie’s eyes went even tenderer and his smile went even higher.

“You’re ridiculous,” he giggled. _Fucking giggled._ “Who knew you’d be such a sap?”

“Only for you baby,” he winked.

“So now that we’ve solved that problem,” Eddie began and gestured to Richie’s straining crotch. “Why don’t we deal with the other?” Richie blinked, mind struggling to process the returned flirting. He must have taken a little too long to respond because Eddie began to backtrack. “Unless… you don’t want to? No pressure?”

“I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life,” he finally answered. Eddie grinned.

“Okay.” And with that, Eddie was getting down on his knees and undoing the button on his jeans. He pulled the taller boy’s pants to the ground, with a surprising, if not mind-shatteringly hot, enthusiasm. Richie’s boxers and shirt received a similar treatment shortly thereafter.

When Eddie’s hand wrapped around his cock, Richie was pretty sure he was the luckiest man alive. His dexterous fingers injected fire in his nerves as they skillfully slid up and down along the shaft. His expression was hyper-focused and he bit his lower lip in concentration. The lip-bite alone summoned a small groan, placing a little smirk on Eddie’s lips (like he knew full well what he was doing to him) were almost too much.

“Jesus fuck, you’re beautiful.” And, Richie swears, Eddie’s eyes twinkled, he’d bet fucking money on it. At least, he would’ve if he’d been able to keep any coherent thought after that. Because after that, Eddie takes him into his mouth.

If his hand made Richie feel on top of the world, then his mouth is a spiritual experience. Like a choir of angels, pearly gates, ‘I found god between Eddie Kaspbrak’s lips’ kind of deal. The hot slide of his tongue, which had taken to swirling around the head of his cock, drew a keen out of him. The way things were going Richie was gonna blow his load way sooner than he’d like. Eddie, who must’ve sensed his rising pleasure, pulled off. He whined at the loss, the feeling of his spit-slick cock jarring compared to the sinful heat of that mouth. The hypochondriac's lips were swollen and red and pulled into a beautiful little smile.

“Eds, baby, please, you’re killing me,” Richie whined. Eddie’s smile turned a little conspiratorial, giving him a chuckle and a wink, before – _holy fucking shit._

Eddie, that gorgeous son of a bitch, took a deep breath and deepthroated Richie’s dick like a goddamn pornstar.

“Fuck,” Richie said, voice cracking. Eddie nosed into the dark curls around the base, and, as if that wasn’t enough, he reached a hand around to thumb his balls. “Shit, sweetheart, that’s so fucking good. Oh my god. How the fuck are you so good at this?” Eddie didn’t respond, simply raising his eyes so they met the other’s and god, did it hit him like a train. Those big brown eyes of his looking up through his lashes were fucking wet dream material. Richie sucked in a breath of air. 

That air came in handy a moment later when Eddie slid back a bit and grabbed Richie’s hand, placing it in his hair.

_Oh. Oh cool._

Richie proceeded to go through the seven stages of grief because Eddie fucking Kaspbrak, man of his dreams and hottest piece of ass Derry had to offer, wanted to be face-fucked. _Okay. I can do that._ He tightened his grip around Eddie’s soft waves, pulling him down a little farther. Once he hit the base, Richie gave the locks a slight yank, making the other boy moan around his cock. Back and forth, between Richie’s tugs and Eddie’s bobbing, the former felt the weight that had been slowly forming in his stomach grow heavier and heavier until –.”

“Eddie baby, I’m close. Gonna cum.” Eddie slipped off, lips making a little popping sound around the head, and began jerking him feverishly.

“C’mon, Rich,” the other said, voice absolutely wrecked. “Cum for me.” And oh boy, did he. He felt himself unravel, in shots of white decorating his own chest and Eddie’s hand. Stars flooded his vision and he could do nothing but wait as the world came back into focus.

“Gross,” Eddie was saying, breathing hard and looking with thinly veiled squeamishness at the slowly drying fluid on his hand. It was then that Richie realized he was being ungentlemanly, and he best well get himself together.

“Um, should I…? Do you want me to, like, I dunno, return the favor?” He proposed, excitement surging at the prospect of putting his own hands all over Eddie.

“I, uh, I’m good.”

“Really, Eds, I don’t mind –.”

“No, like. I’m good.” And then Richie caught a glimpse of a damp spot at the boy’s crotch.

“Oh. Oh.” He almost couldn’t believe it. Eddie had… that… just from… a blowjob? On Richie? In real life?

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get a big head over it, asshole.”

“Nope, too late. Sorry,” he beamed, pulling his pants back up and wiping his cum-covered chest with a towel off his floor. Eddie stood, rolling his eyes, and started walking out of the room. “Wait, what? Are you… going?” The other paused, turning back to Richie with raised eyebrows.

“No? I need a shower. I’m sticky.” He began moving again, making it all the way out the door, before peeking his head back in. “And put your sheets in the wash. I can put them in the dryer once I’m out.”

“Uh… why?”

“Why do you think, dipshit? I don’t wanna sleep on a sweaty comforter.” With that, he was gone and Richie was left to reel in his earth-shattering wake.

Later that night, the two cuddled together in the (freshly washed) bed, both showered and changed into loungewear. (Eddie'd been forced to borrow some of Richie's but, suffice to say, neither were particularly upset about it.) As Richie ran his hands through Eddie’s hair, massaging the spots he’d pulled at, the latter boy broke the silence with soft, nervous words.

“Do you remember what you said? About being sick?” Richie paused his movements.

“That I wasn’t?”

“No… the other thing.”

“…The lovesick bit?’”

“Yeah. That,” Eddie nodded, face flushed red. “Did you mean it?” Richie uneasily rubbed the back of his neck.

“Um.” _Fuck, shit, okay, I guess we’re having this conversation._ “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“Okay. Good.”

“Good?” Richie asked, looking down at Eddie.

“Yeah... cause… uh…” He buried his face into the former’s neck and mumbled quietly into it.

“What was that?” Eddie pulled away, just far enough that he could be heard clearer, and said something that Richie had only imagined hearing in his wildest dreams.

“Me too. I... I like you too. Have for a while.”

“… What.”

“Don’t make me say it again, asshole.”

“No, no, no,” Richie said, excitement clear in his voice and moving back so he could look Eddie in the face. “You totally have to say it again. Oh my god, please say it again.”

“Fine, fine,” he laughed, eyes bright. “I like you, too.” Richie squealed.

“Again!”

“I like you!”

“Again, again, again!”

“I like you, I like you, I like you!” They exploded in a fit of giddy laughter and wrapped each other into an eager embrace. Richie pressed sloppy kisses onto Eddie’s forehead and cheeks and lips, watching the brunet squirm and giggle. The warmth in his chest, the look on the other boy’s face, the words echoing in his brain – all of it felt just like heaven.

Downstairs, Wentworth and Maggie Tozier sat together on the couch watching a late-night program, when the sound of poorly concealed chortles seeped out from their son’s closed door. They looked at each other with bemusement.

“You think he’s got that Kaspbrak boy up there?” Went asked, winking at his wife through thick lenses.

“Oh definitely,” she chuckled. “You think we should do something about it?”

“Nah. Let them be.” She nodded in agreement and repositioned herself so that she was lying with her cheek against her husband’s chest. He reached up to put an arm around her and the laughter of teenage boys again filled the background.

 _Ah, young love,_ Maggie thought, blinking up at her husband, and feeling, as she always did while looking at him, a little young herself.

**Author's Note:**

> me, writing this fic: they are,,, so softe™,,, so in Love,,, i could never,,,,


End file.
